


She Does Something In Prettiness, Like When It’s Kind of Dark

by Lavavulture



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Flirting, Excessive Fluff, F/F, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavavulture/pseuds/Lavavulture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinner is great at most things, like killing, fighting, and being the most bloodthirsty Charger in Iron Bull's employ.  She's maybe not great at flirting.  Possibly.  But Merrill is too pretty not to at least try to woo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Does Something In Prettiness, Like When It’s Kind of Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I really just wanted to practice my Merrill voice. And write more of the Chargers because they're my favorites.

Skinner sat sideways at the tavern table, drinking her beer and definitely not listening to Hawke regale the other Chargers with the tales of his adventures.

She didn’t care about a shem’s adventures. Even if he had fought a dragon, which the Chief always said was the most amazing thing a civilized person could do in their entire life. And Skinner was damned civilized, no matter what anybody said.

Skinner still wouldn’t give Hawke the satisfaction of her unbridled attention. She was a magnificent listener. Hawke would be the luckiest shem in all of Thedas to have her grace his square human face with her eagle eyes.

“And then we just walked home with all these bones and scales. It was a mess.” Hawke rubbed his enormous, hairy chin. It disgusted Skinner to her core. All that hair all over his face, like horrible caterpillars crawling everywhere. Who could possibly even stand to look at it?

Dalish laughed and actually fluttered her pale eyelashes at him. Skinner wanted to vomit but she supposed Dalish was just still sheltered enough from her people’s ways to find shems fascinatingly ugly.

Suddenly the tavern door flew open and a tall, handsome man walked in. Skinner blinked in surprise and turned almost fully towards him. He was covered in unusual, pale-white vallaslin and was thickly muscled, although of course not in the grotesquely showy way of non-elves.

Hawke half-rose out of his seat in surprise. “Fenris!”

The man saw him and his handsome face twisted into a handsome scowl. He stomped over to Hawke and punched him hard in the face.

He wasn’t really Skinner’s type but she definitely was willing to buy him drinks and listen to him talk about his adventures with rapt attention.

Fenris spoke in a deep voice that rolled and caressed in equal measure. “The next time you run away in the middle of the night, don’t bother leaving a note.”

“But you read it, right?” Hawke rose to his feet, rubbing his horrible chin. 

“Your handwriting is childish. I burned it.” Fenris crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fenris, I wrote some very nice things about you. Poetry and everything.” Hawke reached for him but Fenris turned around, marching towards the door. He stopped by a red-haired serving girl and turned his scowl on her.

“Do you know where Hawke’s room is?” Fenris asked. 

“Yes?” The girl’s voice was fluttery and nervous, which Skinner could understand because it was rare to see such a fine male specimen of their kind.

“I will give you all of this gold if you show me where it is.” Fenris lifted up a bulging coin purse. 

The girl licked her lips, glancing over to Hawke for a moment before nodding and leaving with Fenris close behind.

“Oh, shit,” Hawke said, still frozen. “I’m in trouble.”

Iron Bull whistled low. “He’s a handful, I’m guessing.”

Hawke let out a stunned chuckle. “You have no idea.”

Before he could move Varric rushed through the door, which was rare enough to be interesting. However the next person to walk through the door wiped that minor interest away.

She was beautiful. Skinner was looking at the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her life. Her eyes were enormous green pools shimmering like light through a thick forest. Her hair was the rich, warm color of the earth after a cleansing rain. Her skin was smooth and pale as milk, beautifully framed by her delicate dark vallaslin.

Her tits were really just exactly what Skinner looked for when she looked at tits. Just honestly first-class.

Skinner swallowed hard, facing her dead on and staring openly like a fool.

“Hawke, I tried to get here and warn you but you know how fast Broody is when he’s mad.” Varric breathed out hard, laying his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hello, Hawke,” the goddess said in the thick, delicious brogue of an ancient temptress. “I hope Fenris didn’t break your face. He was very cranky the whole trip. It wasn’t much fun at all.”

“I’m sorry, Merrill. I’m glad you came anyway,” Hawke said and then to Skinner’s horror wrapped his giant arms around the vision as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

She beamed—like the sun peeking through thick clouds—and hugged him back. Skinner inadvertently imagined those graceful arms around her and nearly choked on her beer. Rocky began pounding hard on her back.

“Stop, you idiot!” Skinner blushed hard when her outburst drew everyone’s attention. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever blushed, if there had been a last time, but she couldn’t help it when the woman—Merrill, a name like the sound of bells in a heavenly choir—turned her curious eyes on her.

“You okay there, Skinner?” Iron Bull asked, raising one eyebrow high in surprise.

“Fine!” Skinner snapped and turned her face into her beer. Perhaps she could drown herself in what was left and see the goddess again in the next life.

“I should catch up with Fenris before he breaks everything in my room.” Hawke let Merrill go after squeezing her arms warmly.

“Yes, he already broke all the things in your room at home. It left Orana in such a state,” Merrill said, laughing like the sound of rain on the roof.

“Shit,” Hawke muttered and left quickly. 

“Come on, Daisy, I want to introduce you to my friend,” Varric said, gently taking Merrill’s elbow and leading her towards the stairs.

“So, Varric, who’s your pretty friend?” Iron Bull asked, winking. Skinner admired her chief more than anyone she’d ever met before, for his ferocity and strength. However she thought she might lodge an arrow in his brain if he kept looking at Merrill like she was one of the serving girls or even like she was his flashy shem mage.

“Nope!” Varric said firmly as he led Merrill up the stairs.

Iron Bull grunted and slumped into his chair in disappointment. 

Skinner stared up at the ceiling until she noticed that Rocky had stolen her beer right out from under her. Then of course she had to fight him and of course it pulled the rest of the Chargers in and before she knew what was happening they were all standing out in the middle of the courtyard as Krem yelled at them.

“You’re acting like a bunch of cheap soldiers for hire, brawling in the middle of a bar! You’re the damned Chargers, not a pack of bloody amateurs!” Krem was glaring as the Chargers avoided his fierce eyes.

“That’s right, boys, nobody likes brawlers,” Iron Bull said. He winced as Stitches pulled the thread out and then back into the cut over his eye. “Careful, I don’t have a spare one of those anymore.”

“You’re as bad as the rest of them, Chief,” Krem said sharply. “But since I can’t punish you I’ll have to make the rest of these bastards run extra laps to make up for it.”

“Sorry, boys,” Iron Bull said guiltily when the Chargers groaned. 

As Skinner started stretching to prepare herself for running around Skyhold for however many times Krem would make them, she noticed that Varric had come back down into the courtyard, along with the creepy kid that lived in the attic and beautiful, sublime Merrill.

Skinner stood up straight as a rail. She didn’t know if it was possible to win at running punishment laps, but by the Maker’s Dick, she was going to try.

 

That night it felt like someone had punched every muscle in her body individually. Skinner moaned softly in pain as she climbed into her bed and heard an answering moan from Dalish across the room.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Dalish muttered as she carefully pulled the covers up. “And now I’m too hot.”

She kicked the covers off with a little groan of pain before settling down.

Skinner didn’t even bother to touch her blanket. She stared up as Dalish blew the candle out from across the room with her not-magic. She normally shared a room with Rocky but Krem had decided that it wasn’t a good idea tonight and thrown her in with Dalish. 

They didn’t spend that much time together. She got along better with Rocky, who was destructive and fun, while Dalish preferred to make dirty, intellectual jokes with Stiches and Grim. Sometimes people thought that they must be close since they were the only women in the upper echelon of the Chargers and because they were elves, but Skinner was too aware that a Dalish elf’s experiences were miles away from her own.

However Skinner was thankful that they were together tonight for one important reason. She knew by Merrill’s lovely vallaslin and well-used staff that she was a Dalish mage. Dalish might be able to help Skinner with the most important mission she’d ever decided to undertake.

She was going to woo the pants off of Merrill.

Skinner was obviously as brilliant at wooing as she was at everything else but she could admit, privately to herself, that sometimes people didn’t quite understand her methods. Sometimes nice, sweet elves would act like she was going to murder them in their sleep instead of make tender, skilled love to them. Normally she didn’t mind that much but she couldn’t stand the thought of wonderful, bright-eyed Merrill shying away from her expert flirting like that big-haired mage librarian.

“Dalish? Are you sleeping?” Skinner asked, trying to be quiet.

“Apparently not,” Dalish muttered. “What is it?”

Skinner coughed and tried to sound casual. “I’m curious, you’ve been to many Dalish clans. Are they all very different?”

“Well,” Dalish said, surprised, “yes, they all have their differences, although most follow the same laws and customs. They’re more similar to each other than to the countries they come from but there are some regional peculiarities.”

“Yes, fascinating, very interesting.” Skinner nodded in the dark, hoping that she sounded full of academic interest. “What sort of differences are there? Is it the food or the clothes or maybe the courting?”

“Oh, food definitely. I stayed a time with this clan from Orlais that made the best braised rabbit I’ve ever had. I dream about that rabbit.” Dalish yawned.

“Yes, right, but what about the courting?” Skinner said in a sharp tone.

Skinner couldn’t see her but she could practically hear Dalish raising her eyebrow. “Why the sudden interest in Dalish courting?”

“I’m just curious. There’s no crime in being curious! Lots of city elves wonder about the Dalish courting. Some people are always talking about it. I thought I could just ask and stop the spread of bad information, but if you’d rather outlandish rumors fly around every alienage in Thedas, that’s your business!”

Skinner huffed and rolled onto her side, away from Dalish. She felt herself blushing again in embarrassment and wondered if she’d been possessed by a demon of idiocy.

Dalish paused after her outburst and then burst out laughing. Skinner frowned and burrowed deeper into her bed.

“I see,” Dalish said and her voice was thick with understanding. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be the cause of more misinformation among the city elves. I will tell you of the traditional Dalish courting rituals.”

Skinner thought for a moment and then rolled back over, facing her. “Can you write them down?”

 

Skinner’s knee was bouncing nervously as she watched the tavern door. Beautiful Merrill visited the tavern almost daily since she’d come to Skyhold, sometimes with Hawke, Varric, and a surly Fenris but often alone to see that spooky boy the Herald liked so much. Skinner couldn’t remember his name for the life of her but if Merrill was growing sweet on him then his name was garbage and she would never speak to him again.

She’d never actually spoken to him before but she’d be damned if she’d let that stand in her way.

“Merrill is very nice.” Skinner almost jumped out of her skin when the pale-faced boy she’d been thinking about shimmered into existence beside her.

“Gah,” Skinner said and slowly put her knife back into her boot. 

The boy stared curiously at her, sallow and thin. Merrill was a stunning creature of light and beauty, far too magnificent for a sickly shem ghost.

“I’m not a ghost,” the boy said. “And my name is Cole. You can remember it now if you want. Merrill likes me but she doesn’t like me in the way that frightens you.”

“Nothing frightens me, creature,” Skinner said but his words comforted her. She’d heard that the boy—Cole apparently—could see into people’s hearts. If he said that Merrill didn’t want him then she could probably trust that.

Cole tilted his head to the side. “Fire burning bright, spreading, the only way to see but all it shows is the broken and the dead.”

“Be quiet!” Skinner glared at him. 

“Ah, words that pretend to be brave to cover for fear. I’m sorry. Varric says that sometimes people have to lie and I shouldn’t tell them the truth.” Cole lowered his head in contrition. “I can help you though. I know what Merrill does like.”

“I don’t want your help, shem,” Skinner snapped. 

“Oh, that’s not a lie,” Cole said, disappointed. “I won’t help you then. But she’s not in the tavern. She’s in the garden, touching every flower, letting the smell remind her of the forests from when she was small.”

“Oh!” Skinner jumped off the wall, excited. Flowers were on the list. She hurried towards the garden but something made her stop and turn back. Polite behavior always did something to her, perhaps because she was so incapable of it naturally. “Thank you, Cole.”

Cole smiled faintly and shimmered away. 

 

Merrill was in the gardens, smelling the flowers and smiling brightly at every person that wandered by. Skinner skulked in the shadows, gathering her courage. She was a Charger. She was fearless. She was bold.

“Can I help you with something?” A sharp voice said from her. Skinner turned around and saw the gardener staring at her with upturned eyebrows. She’d once tried flirting with her but the older woman had shut it down efficiently.

Skinner tried to smile a charming smile but it felt like a snarl even to her. “I’m looking at your flowers. Can I pick some?”

“I suppose?” The gardener frowned. 

Skinner hurriedly went to a far corner of the garden and began plucking some that looked promising. She glanced up when she felt she had enough and was pleased to see that Merrill had wandered over to the lovely gazebo and was sitting on the railing with a contented expression on her face.

It took every ounce of courage Skinner had to walk over to her, aware as she moved that she was stomping. Merrill noticed her approach at the last minute and looked faintly surprised. It made Skinner feel even more nervous.

“Here. I got you these,” Skinner said in an angry voice, pushing her bouquet of flowers into Merrill’s slender hands. “Because they’re pretty. Like your face.”

“Thank you, they’re lovely!” Merrill blinked hard but smelled the flowers. Her eyes widened and she sneezed. “Oh dear, I think I might be allergic to these.”

Her eyes reddened and she began sneezing fitfully. Skinner watched her in growing horror. 

“Don’t smell them anymore!” Skinner shouted, snatching the flowers back out of her hand. Everyone in the gazebo turned to look at them. The people who Merrill had smiled at as she’d explored the garden glared at Skinner. 

“How silly, I didn’t know I was allergic,” Merrill said, sneezing again four times in rapid succession. “Can I have those back? I’ve never found a flower that made me sneeze.”

Skinner handed the flowers back over as thought they were a pack of ravenous rats. Merrill opened up the knapsack on her hip and tipped them inside, rubbing her nose and sniffing.

“I must look a mess,” Merrill said, smiling apologetically. “I’ll go clean up. Thank you for the flowers!”

“You’re welcome!” Skinner said loudly, long after Merrill had walked away, still sniffling.

Skinner wondered how much trouble she would get in with Krem if she murdered all of the witnesses to her shame.

 

_Little Gifts, Like ~~Flowers~~ or Food To Test the Waters_

Skinner couldn’t really cook, at least not according to the other Chargers. She supposed she could ask Grim, who generally cooked for them and was the picture of discretion, but it seemed like cheating to have someone else prepare a gift for Merrill. 

She would have to muddle through. With Dalish’s words about the braised rabbit in mind she had snuck out of Skyhold into a little clearing and was watching the ground from a tree, her bow out and ready. 

She was an elf first, always first, but she was Orlesian. She could make a stupid delicious rabbit. It had been everywhere in the alienage when she was a little girl. How hard could it be?

Hours later she was poking at a small collection of nugs doubtfully with the tip of an arrow. It seemed like a waste to leave them. Surely there wasn’t that much of a difference between a nug and a rabbit.

When she brought it to Grim and asked to borrow some of his spices, he raised his eyebrow at her and grunted.

“It’s none of your business!” Skinner stared at the vast array of spices in Grim’s pack and wondered what any of them were. She supposed the black one was pepper but there were dozens of little green ones and she had no idea what the two red ones were supposed to be.

Grim shrugged and went back to whittling. Nosy busybody.

The first nug burnt to a crisp almost instantly. She’d only left it for a few moments to when Rocky approached her with a huge bottle of some dwarven rotgut and a deck of cards. She hadn’t even played an entire game.

The second didn’t burn but it did melt, something Skinner didn’t think should be possible. She huffed angrily and almost threw Grim’s spice pack off of one of the towers. She didn’t because Grim was a horrible shem but he was also maybe a close friend and she didn’t want to make him upset. He was such a baby when he was sad.

“My dear mother makes a revolutionary nug soup,” Rocky said as he watched Skinner clean the liquefied nug out of the cooking pit. “The secret is a little bit of explosive powder. Gives it a kick.”

“I’ll kick you if you don’t shut up,” Skinner muttered but took the bottle of rotgut when Rocky offered it to her. An idea crossed her mind as she prepared the fire for the last nug. “Rocky, you’re always bedding those horrible shem women despite your terrible smell. How do you do it?”

“Ah, finally it’s come to this.” Rocky rubbed his face in satisfaction. “Finally you’ve come to me for advice on the mysterious arts of love.”

“Nevermind,” Skinner said, regretting her question immediately.

“No, no, you’re my dear friend. It’s my pleasure to share my secrets.” Rocky leaned in close. “The secret is respect. I treat the ladies with respect like my mother always taught me to and they flock to me like beautiful, long-legged birds.”

“Really?” Skinner frowned doubtfully.

“Of course.” Rocky paused and shrugged. “But I also give great head. Word gets around.”

“Ugh.” Skinner downed the rest of the dwarven rotgut and eyed her final nug. It was turning a tempting brown and the spices she’d decided to sprinkle on it smelled pretty good. 

This might actually work.

 

“Look at its little face!” Merrill exclaimed as Skinner set the cooked nug down on a plate in front of her. “It looks so surprised. I suppose it was, minding its own business and then boop, arrow in its side. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a nug before.”

“Famous Orlesian recipe,” Skinner said in a hurried way. She coughed and tried again. “I heard you lived in the Kirkwall alienage and I thought I would share an Orlesian alienage delicacy.”

“How kind.” Merrill smiled up at her and Skinner almost collapsed from the beauty. She’d been lucky to see Merrill sitting by herself in the tavern, happily flipping through a copy of _Hard in Hightown_. If this worked, Skinner would buy twenty copies of it to remember their first real date. 

Merrill sliced off a piece near its little hands and took a large bite. Skinner immediately knew that something had gone terribly wrong when Merrill’s enormous green eyes watered up. She began coughing and couldn’t stop. Skinner grabbed a glass out of a man’s hand and hurriedly gave it to Merrill who chugged it and then gasped.

“That’s quite strong,” Merrill said with a reddened face, setting the glass on the table. Skinner picked it up and sniffed it, wincing at the strong alcoholic fumes.

“I need water!” Skinner looked around desperately for a glass of water, something she thought should be more plentiful in a fucking tavern. One was near her elbow, as though it had appeared by magic and she handed it to Merrill who drank it all in one go.

Merrill sighed in relief and set the glass down. She eyed the nug curiously. “That’s quite a lot of cinnamon. And red pepper, I think? Orlesian food is so fancy.”

To Skinner’s horror Merrill cut off another much smaller piece and took another bite. She chewed carefully and smiled again. “You must write down the recipe. My friends might enjoy a fancy meal when we go back to Kirkwall.” 

“Of course!” Skinner stared in amazed disgust at Merrill continued eating the nug. “I need to go.”

“Oh? All right.” It had to be Skinner’s imagination that Merrill looked a bit disappointed. “But perhaps you could show me around Skyhold later? Varric gave me a little tour but he never likes me to go anywhere interesting. You must know all the best places.”

“Yes, I know places.” Skinner blushed up to the roots of her hair. “Tomorrow! Near dusk!”

“That sounds nice.” Merrill’s cheeks were apple-red from the alcohol and she looked so sweet that Skinner wanted to kiss both rosy cheeks. 

She fled the tavern immediately.

 

_Recite Ancient Dalish Love Poetry_

Skinner didn’t know any ancient Dalish love poetry and she wasn’t about to ask Dalish, who had taken to asking her if she had any other questions about Dalish traditions and then winking elaborately. 

This really only left one option, although it made her grit her teeth to consider it. Skinner made her way up to the library early in the morning, hoping that she wouldn’t run into anyone as she did her research. 

She saw the Chief’s fancy man asleep in a big chair with a book laid out on his lap. As far as shems went he wasn’t the worst-looking but she still didn’t know why Iron Bull would be so attracted to someone that deliberately grew hair on his face and then styled it like that. It was inexplicable.

Skinner tiptoed past him and began perusing the books, wondering if there was any rhyme or reason to how they were organized.

“You again!” A familiar voice rang out from and Skinner grimaced as the mage librarian came over to her. She tried to remember his name for a moment and failed but he clearly didn’t have the same problem. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”

“I understood the first time,” Skinner hissed out through clenched teeth. “I’m not here for you.”

“Oh,” the librarian said and then looked almost affronted. “Then why are you here?”

“I want a book. That’s what libraries are for, right? Books. I want a book of poetry.” Skinner grimaced. “For a friend. My Dalish friend. She’s sick and wants to read a book of love poetry from her people.”

“Oh!” The librarian’s face softened and he almost looked handsome enough to remind Skinner why she’d been interested for even a moment. She’d thought he seemed like such a nice boy. “Well, there aren’t many books like that. Especially here. There were so many more books back in my Circle.”

The librarian looked wistful for a moment. 

“There is the _Lament of the Araval_ ,” Dorian said from his chair. He stretched and yawned as Skinner turned to him, patting down his mustache with practiced fingers. “It’s not all love poetry and frankly I can’t even begin to speak to the accuracy of the translation but it’s supposed to be Dalish.”

Dorian reached over and picked a slender red book off of the shelves. He glanced over it a moment before handing it to Skinner. He stretched again and although Skinner was firm in her belief that there was nothing uglier in the world than a human all of the time, she was impressed that he managed to look so composed after spending a night in a chair. The kohl around his eyes was even still on-point. 

“Thank you,” Skinner said, surprising herself with her instinctive politeness. “My friend will be very happy, I’m sure.”

Dorian shrugged. “Hopefully she’ll get a laugh out of it at least.”

 

_If All Else Fails, Just Go for It_

Skinner paced the courtyard the rest of the day. Stitches had approached her with the idea of traveling to Val Royeaux the next day to see a play and had wanted her to come translate but she’d dismissed him with a few icy words. She wasn’t a guidebook and she was busy.

“So sorry!” Stitches held up his hands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I forgot you’re against the idea of culture if it doesn’t involve a fistfight.”

“Take Grim with you. He knows Orlesian.” Skinner rubbed her head hard when she spotted Merrill walking out of the main keep. “Now leave me alone.”

“Take Grim, that’s hilarious,” Stitches muttered as he left. “Maybe if I bring something to write on? Actually, that could work.”

Skinner ignored him as she bounded up to Merrill’s side. Once there she instantly lost all the composure she had and simply stared a moment. Merrill looked particularly stunning in the waning light, her pale, slender face flushed a pretty pink. She even had a little chain of flowers woven around the ties in her shimmering dark hair. 

“Beautiful!” Skinner breathed out and then swallowed. “The day! It’s beautiful. Perfect for a walk.”

“Yes, it’s very pretty. There’s all manner of creatures out and about in it. I saw a hawk pick a mouse straight off the ground and fly away with it. Not my friend Hawke though. He can’t fly. And I don’t think he likes to eat mice.” Merrill chuckled. “He would fly if he could though. I don’t know that I would. Would you?”

“Would I what?” Skinner asked, dazed. She’d never heard Merrill say so much to her all at once. She began leading her towards the ramparts.

“Fly,” Merrill put her hands together as they ascended the stairs. “I suppose it’s a silly question. People can’t fly unless they’re really dragons.”

“I would like to fly,” Skinner said quickly. She didn’t think it was a silly question at all. “When I was a girl I used to climb the tree in the middle of the alienage and watch the birds fly all around the city. I was jealous of them.”

Skinner paused by a guard tower. “I was a stupid girl.”

“I don’t think you sounded stupid at all.” Merrill smiled almost shyly at her as they approached a broken piece of walkway. “When I was a little girl I wanted to be one of those little creatures with the little poky spines all around.”

“Porcupines?”

“Yes,” Merrill laughed again. “I thought they were so cute. I wanted to keep one as a pet but the Keeper told me no. It was for the best, I suppose. They’re probably not friendly.”

“I had a pet lizard but one of the neighborhood boys ate it.” Skinner paused, scratching her head as she tried to remember.

“How terrible!” Merrill came to a stop and focused her full, wonderful attention on her.

“It was fine. I broke his nose and we became friends.” Skinner realized that she wasn’t leading the conversation into the romantic direction she’d wanted it go. She pointed out into the horizon. “I wanted to show you that. Best view in Skyhold.”

Merrill turned her head and gasped in appreciative delight at the mountains unfolding before her as the sun sank behind them. “It’s so lovely!”

“Yes,” Skinner said, taking in her stunning profile. “I know a Dalish poem. Would you like to hear it?”

“I like poetry.” Merril turned her head, which left them very close to one another.

Skinner took a deep breath and began reciting the poem she’d memorized that morning:

_She walks in beauty, like the night_  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

_One shade the more, one ray the less,_  
Had half impaired the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er her face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express  
How pure, how dear their dwelling place. 

_And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,_  
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,  
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,  
But tell of days in goodness spent,  
A mind at peace with all below,  
A heart whose love is innocent! 

“Oh,” Merrill sighed after Skinner finished. She leaned closer and Skinner felt the whole world stop around her. Merrill paused. “I don’t think it was Dalish though. It doesn’t have the right rhythm to it.”

Skinner blinked at her. Then with a frustrated groan she reached into her bag and chucked the red book off of the rapports. Merrill watched with surprised eyes as Skinner put her face in her hands.

“I’m hopeless. You should leave now before I accidentally poison you or trip you off the tower trying to kiss you.” Skinner wanted the sky to open up again and suck her into a void of demons.

“Were you going to try? To kiss me, I mean?” Merrill asked and her voice sounded so hesitant that Skinner peeked out at her over her hands.

“What?”

Merrill licked her lips and then leaned over, kissing her sweetly. Her lips were gentle and soft, parting easily when Skinner overcame her shock long enough to kiss her back.

When Skinner pulled back Merrill was flushed all-over and smiling a shy smile that made her want to kiss her again and again.

“I thought Cole was teasing when he said you liked me. He’s not really the sort to tease I think but I’ve never met a city elf that liked me.” Merrill ducked her head a little. “To be honest the Dalish elves didn’t like me much either.”

“Everyone should like you,” Skinner said, still stunned.

Merrill reached up, playing with a loose bit of her hair. “It’s kind of you to say that but most people are afraid of me. It’s the blood magic, you see.”

“I love blood.” Skinner wrapped her arms around Merrill. It was every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined. Merrill was trembling in her arms like a little bird, her upturned face small and sweet.

“Are you sure?” Merrill sounded so hopeful that Skinner didn’t know how anyone could avoid falling in love with her. 

Skinner was brilliant with words, of course, but she thought she might let her brilliance in other areas speak for once. She kissed Merrill again and she tasted like magic and blood and sunlight. As Skinner pressed her against the walls of guard tower she wondered if she would ever grow tired of the taste.

It seemed unlikely.

 

The next day Skinner was in such a good mood that she was actually humming an old Orlesian folk song she hadn’t heard in years. When she sat down to breakfast with the other Chargers they all looked at her in surprise.

“Are you smiling?” Stitches asked, sounding startled.

“People smile. It happens.” Skinner dug into her breakfast with gusto. “Are you still going to see that play?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going with you. And bringing a friend.” Skinner smiled wider at the idea. Orlesian plays were the most romantic in the world. Merrill would be mesmerized by it. And she could buy her a pretty trinket from a stall, like bright ribbon for her hair or a sharp knife to cut her palm when she wanted drive a man mad with visions of horror.

“What friend?” Rocky asked suspiciously. 

Just then Merrill walked into the tavern, her pretty face so bright with happiness that it was a wonder anyone could look at her head-on and not be blinded. She blushed when she saw Skinner and came closer.

“Hello,” Merrill said with a nervous chuckle. 

“Good morning.” Skinner leaned up and kissed her lightly on the mouth, making Merrill blush deeper.

“Would you like to have lunch with me this afternoon? I’m not a very good cook.”

“Yes!” Skinner agreed quickly.

“Good.” Merrill backed out towards the stairs and bumped her back against a pole. “Oops, that’s supposed to be there. I’m going upstairs to ask Cole about the Fade. I have a lot of questions.”

Merrill looked around the group and then zeroed back in on Skinner. “Do you have any questions for him? He likes questions.”

“Questions?” Skinner concentrated as Merrill continued to stare intently at her. “Yes, lots of questions. Upstairs. For Cole.”

Merrill nodded and the two ascended up the stairs hastily.

Iron Bull watched them, thoughtfully scratching his cheek. “I don’t think they’re going to ask the Kid anything.”

The Chargers turned to look at their leader.

He blinked. “What?”

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Lord Byron. Skinner's "Dalish" poem is "She Walks In Beauty."


End file.
